God of Lies
by Caricature of a Witch
Summary: Loki, still considered Thor's enemy, lies dying on Jotunheim, alone. Takes place somewhere after Thor: The Dark World. No pairings.


**AN:** _Okay, now. This is my first story for this fandom. I have seen the three movies with Loki (among all the other movies by now), I have read, uh... five comics so far? And I've read a LOT of fanfiction. And stared at fan pictures. That makes up my Loki knowledge, and I hope it's enough. I'm sorry if I get things wrong or weird or unrealistic, but I'm trying, yeah? Feel free to tell me if there are mistakes, be it content or grammar, English isn't my mother tongue. (Also I know the basic mythology. Counts for something?)_ ****

 **Disclaimer:** _Yeah. Sure. I'm, like, the Queen of Marvel, it's all mine. It's my birthright! I swear! Also I have a personal Tom Hiddleston at home whom I can hug whenever I get too many Loki feels... and as soon as I stop hallucinating, it's not mine anymore. Obviously. Just borrowing them to have an outlet for my sadistic tendencies. Aw, crap._

 **~ * ~**

 **God of Lies**

 **~ * ~**

It wasn't that he had not reckoned with a scenario like this. Oh no, he had known perfectly well it was a possibility that might be expected – wished for by some, even. No matter how fond he might be of lying, to others or to himself, he never found use in deluding himself in this regard. It had always been a possibility – it had just always seemed exceedingly unlikely to him.  
Going out in chaos, in a mess of destruction and fire (self-induced, of course, and taking as many with him as possible) would have been much more appealing to him.  
Alas, when did he ever really get what he hoped for?

In a way, he supposed, it was ironic at least, that he would die here, alone, on the godsforsaken frozen wastelands of Jotunheim, the one of the Nine Realms he had hoped to never see again. If nothing else, Loki had always been able to appreciate irony.  
And wasn't after all his life, his very existence, the greatest irony of all? The God of Mischief, the Trickster God, who could not realize the tricks played on him before it was too late, the God of Lies who could not see through the lies that made up the fabric of his entire being. The Silvertongue, silenced by silver needles and thread and the hate and mistrust that was all anyone ever spared for him. The God of Evil, whose good deeds went unnoticed.  
Odinson. Laufeyson. Friggason? _Loki, Brother of Thor._ Loki of Asgard, Loki of Jotunheim, Loki of Nowhere. _Loki the Unworthy.  
_ And as the God of Lies lay dying in the end, he thought how it had begun.

 _God of Mischief._ It was the first title he had earned for himself, a young child still, and at first it had seemed affectionate enough. Mother – _Frigga_ had laughed while chiding him for his pranks, and called him "my clever boy" when she believed him to have fallen asleep. Thor had laughed when Loki had dragged him into and out of trouble, and called him crazy like any big brother would. The palace staff had smiled fondly when they noticed him sneaking about, and called him "little beast of a prince" when he stole pastries from the kitchen and sent him to the Allfather for a scolding when they thought he'd gone too far.  
And the Allfather... Odin

 _(not father never father he's not my father he's not)_

had scolded him alright, tried to talk the mischief right out of him and almost succeeded at times but in the end achieved nothing but to fascinate Loki with the power that mere words could have.  
How they could scare people more than any bilgesnipe could,

 _(you will never see her again)_

how they could hurt more than any blow delivered with Mjölnir,

 _(your birthright was to die no loki frigga is the only reason you are still alive and you will never see her again will never see her again SEE HER AGAIN)_

 _(norns let me see her again)_

how they could haunt someone for days and months and years and follow them into their dreams

 _(laufey's son)._

Odin's words had so often scared him, had hurt him, had haunted him, but those words that wouldn't leave the mind of his young self meant that the Allfather cared, didn't they, he cared, he paid enough attention to Loki to notice his wrongdoings, to notice _him_ , and not just his brother,

 _(i'm not your brother)_

not just Thor

 _(thor odinson firstborn heir son entrusted with the mighty hammer mjölnir the mighty thor)_

 _(i'm not your brother i never was)_

was important. Loki was important when he caused trouble, the Child God of Mischief, and he did so more and more often.

With the mischief came the lies. He had realized early that the things people said were not always the truth, be it to one another or to him,

 _(you will be alright my child it will be fine all will be well)_

 _(come on loki play with us it will be fun come play it's just a game)_

and if other people lied and got away with it, why shouldn't he?

 _(no mother i haven't done it it was not me)_

 _(nothing happened i'm fine of course i had fun in the training ring of course)_

He used the lies to his benefit, at first to conceal his true intentions, to sneak into places he was not supposed to enter, he used them to get what he wanted and to get where he wanted and to make people think what he wanted them to. He perfected it, saw it as a form of art and mastered it and less and less did anyone know whether he was lying or telling the truth. He could hide anything, intentions, past deeds, little secrets as well as himself, his faults, his emotions; spinning lies and forming them into masks to conceal what should never be revealed.

But as he learned how to hide his lies – with the right expressions, the right tone of voice, the right way of moving his hands or stilling completely – he also learned how to recognize the telltale signs in others.

 _(or so you thought because you could never see through the biggest lie could you the lie they told you from the beginning the lie that is you you couldn't see it see you're a lie you're a lie a lie)_

Twisting words was easy. He soon had discovered the palace library and chosen it as his new favourite place. He learned new words every day, learned how to eloquently express what he wanted to say, learned how to twist the words, into stories, beautiful or thrilling or terrifying, into lies and masks, and they were beautiful and terrifying too.

But if he could twist words and weave them and reshape them to his liking, it meant that others could do the same, and as he grew up, the words others spoke to him gradually lost their meaning. Words, sentences, promises and oaths meant nothing anymore, lost any worth they might have once held, because words could be twisted, could be false and untrue and _lies_ , and his trust in words fell and his trust in actions grew. A hug, a hand on a shoulder, a slap in the face, a blow with a weapon, a kiss on the forehead.

Yet, still, there were times when he craved words, craved verbal reassurances. (I love you. I still believe in you. I will watch out for you. I will protect you. I mourned you.

 _(no one mourns the wicked)_

You're safe. I've got you. It's alright. Brother. Brother. Brother.) (Though why he had brought up Odin when he thought Loki was dying was beyond him, as if his little brother was still out to seek the Allfather's approval, when he gave nothing about him, and it angered him and touched him at the same time, that the fool would think _Odin_ meant something, meant anything, but it showed that he cared, even if he still did not understand, Thor had still cared, Thor had always cared.)

 _(i didn't do it for him)_

 _(brother)_

His ways with words had earned him the title _Silvertongue_ , and he had put those abilities to good use. He had spun stories, nets of words that would catch people, enlace them in silvery smooth thread and lead them astray, had twisted the truth into something irrecognizable, had lied lied _lied_ to everybody _(to himself),_ and amidst his world of lies he had looked for the truth.

 _(i wanted only to protect you from the truth)_

But he needed the truth, needed it desperately, for how could he spin a lie without knowing the truth first when without it he couldn't keep it apart from the lies that got so confusing at times. He lied, but despised it when people lied to him, because he knew when they did, he _always_ knew, always,

 _(not always)_

but he did not always know what the truth was

 _(you are my son loki)_

 _(no not his son not her son no one's son loki of nowhere not his son)_

 _(i am the monster parents tell their children about at night)_

because there were many lies and false, twisted words but only one truth

 _(monster)_

and too many possibilities, and he had been lied to too many times. He did not trust anymore. He could not trust anymore, looked for lies wherever he went, and almost always he found them, almost always they were there, in every word he was told, like a constant companion even if he was not the one to tell them, constant and unwished for.

Sometimes he could not find them. Sometimes he looked and searched but could not find, and when he saw none, he could not trust their absence either. He would grow nervous, wary, he would withdraw and shield himself behind walls and masks and look again and again, because surely he must have missed something.

 _(it all makes sense now)_

 _(no matter how much you claim to love me)_

And when he had ultimately let go, the lies he used to catch people with had caught him, caught him and ensnared him and took him spiralling down, down, deeper and deeper into madness and despair

 _(is it madness? is it? IS IT?)_

until he lost himself in them, until he forgot what it meant to be a truth and not a lie, until he forgot all that he ever was before, until he forgot that he loved Frigga,

 _(then am i not your mother)_

 _(you're not you're lying not your son never your son)_

 _(mother please mother i'm sorry i'm sorry forgive me mother)_

forgot that Thor loved him,

 _(come home brother please come home)_

 _(i'm not your brother i never was it's all a lie)_

 _(oh brother)_

forgot that there were other ways to live than alone, pushing everything away, that not everything had to be a lie, that maybe, he wouldn't have needed to be alone, to be scared, but it was too late now.

 _(not scared not scared i'm not scared)_

 _(lies lies don't lie stop lying)_

 _(mother brother please help me i need you help me)_

 _(i'm scared i'm so scared where are you don't leave me alone i'm cold don't leave me)_

 _(don't let me fall take the lies away don't let me fall don't)_

There were no stories left to spin, no words left to twist to try and change his fate, to avoid the inevitable.

 _(i could have done it)_

 _(for you)_

 _(for all of us)_

The God of Lies could feel himself dying, fading, bleeding out, and he knew that the biggest Lie in all the Nine would not see another day

He wished he had never discovered the art of lying, never realized it was possible to not tell the truth, never realized he had been lied to, never started lying himself, because then everything would have been different and he would not have ended up here, cold and alone, with nothing but old, withered lies to keep him company on his last journey.

 _(i'm sorry i lied)_

"You see, in their last moments, people show you who they really are." ~Joker (The Dark Knight, 2008)


End file.
